Enter the Bull: Part One.

DURHAM, NC

Durham could be Portland circa 1991.

"Five years ago, you didn't go to Durham," a Couchsurfer named Elaine tells me.

I'm sitting at Cantina 18 in Raleigh with her, Ben, Annas, and Luis, core members of a local CS group that meets for weekly brunches.

"Unless you wanted to get shot," Ben adds.

Durham was synonymous with tobacco and textiles through the middle of the 20th century. Plaques and place names around town pay homage to that history. There's the American Tobacco redevelopment district, the Lucky Strike water tower, etc. Today, there are boutique donuts, a high-end whiskey bar, breweries, food trucks, and chefs approaching rock star status.

I got into town around 10pm on Friday night, taking state route 49 to avoid 12 miles of congestion on I-77 near Charlotte. The combination of my late departure from Columbia and the detour adds several hours to my original ETA. Route 49 runs through the Piedmont, some of the most bucolic scenery I've ever seen. Rolling hills, tranquil ponds, quaint barns. It could be the English countryside, and if it's what made James Taylor homesick, then I totally get it.

I stayed with my friend Ryan, who I met in Portland several years back and who is currently undergoing the crucible of Duke's nurse anesthesia program. So, he's learning the ins and outs of all sorts of compounds and gases that make you feel nothing. (Good friend to have.)

Saturday we go to Only Burger. I get this thing, which had fried green tomatoes and an egg. An egg! Nomnom, and so forth.

Carpe Durham.

After absorbing our meals, we played a tennis match at Oval Park. I handed Ryan a breadstick in the first set (6-1) but came closer in the second (7-5). Not to take anything from his victory, but it's the South. In July. SO. MUCH. SWEAT.

Sunday night, I met my friend Megan at the James Joyce. We worked together in Oregon until last July, when she returned here after the job didn't pan out as she envisioned. (We discovered the emoji below was suitable shorthand for a certain manager...)

We had a lot of catching up to do, and new exciting things to talk about. Megan is like the unofficial mayor of Durham; she knows where all the cool music and fattening food happens. She even has friends in a band called Bombadil... BOMBADIL! I remember getting really excited when she told me this a couple years ago. Because I'm a dork.

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow!

 Forget about explaining Tom Bombadil to someone who's never read The Lord of the Rings. Or anyone who has, for that matter.